His Angel
by Siavahda
Summary: Twoshot, LuciusHarry slash. No one ever realised, but Harry has a bit of a secret two, in fact...And they're white and feathery...
1. Chapter 1

Ok, eveyone knows this stuff. I do not own any of the characters, etc, etc. Warnings - this is slash (aka, male/male) and though I've tried not to be to graphic there is basically alot of sex in this thing. So be warned! No flames. (Seriously, I don't read them.)

Was there anything more beautiful, the whole world over, than the sight that lay before him now? Surely such a thing was not possible, and yet...Here it was.

The raven-haired head moved sleepily, tickingling him slightly. Mentally, he mock-frowned. Malfoys are not ticklish! Except, apparently, this one.  
His hand, almost of it's own accord, slid down the boys back, carressing from his smooth, elegant neck, peppered with little red nips and a love-bite from the night before, to just above his arse. Again, and again, his hand followed that same path, his fingers tracing the two lines of skin on each side of his spine, each only just visible, beacuse they were just darker than his normal skin.

He wanted that beautiful sight before him again, the one from last night; wanted to cut loose the ropes binding his Self, the ropes called Family Honor, Reputation, and Social Standing. They had no importance, none at all, compared to what he wanted with a longing so fierce it made his heart ache.  
His angel was stirring, leaning in to the touch of the hand running up and down his back, emerald eyes still closed in hazy drowsiness, face open in peaceful contentment.

He closed his eyes in remembrance, the memory that would always be the most precious for him, along with the birth of his son. That body, hot and shining with sweat, skin meeting skin under the flicker of candle-light. The whimpers of pleasure, of sweet surrender beneath him, that made his heart soar. The soft sighs as he kissed that scar, that nose, those sweet, soft, lucious lips he was already addicted to. The slippery skin clutched to his own, the arms around his neck, the mouth open and willing as he plundered the mouth-watering treasure hidden there. The gasps and roaring dominace as he marked the angel as his and his alone, with a violet and azure Mark on his neck, his throat, the husky vocals that begged him for more, to never let it stop.  
The smooth hardness of his angel's pleasure-centre, the sweet intake of breath as his angel bucked uncontrolably, grinding the two of them together until they were struggling to breathe, the soft moans as his tongue printed his love onto his angel's skin.

And the hot, wet tightness of him, that flexed and convulsed around him, the desperate vocals, begging for more, wrapping around him until he couldn't tell where he ended and his angel began, and then the angel whimpered and purred and moaned and he couldn't care anymore, beacuse it was mind-blowing, and earth-shattering, and world-ending, and his angel's back tore as they reached nirvana, a pair of white, flawless wings unfolding like sunlight on snow, flaring, spread wide, so wide they ached as they tried to release the pleasure locked inside them. They had folded up again, when his angel went to sleep, the skin flowing over them, with only two scars to show where they had been, and would be. For he intended to summon them whenever he had the chance.

Like now.

And he proceeded to wake up the whole manor with his angel's cries...

Comments? Reviews? If I get enough (good) reviews I'll keep going with this, if you like!


	2. Chapter 2

Again, peoples, please be warned that this is slash (male/male), not to mention Harry/Lucius. Don't like, don't read, don't flame.

Sated and warm, Lucuis pulled his angel close. He only had a moment or two before the beautiful wings folded back into his love's spine, and he made full use of them.

In a gesture meant for affection, not arousal, he ran a hand down the junction of the wing nearest him, where ache-soft feathers blended almost seamlessly with perfect golden skin. Had there ever been anything more beautiful?

He didn't doubt for a moment that there wasn't.

Or if there was, then it was the twin gems gazing sleepily up at him now, a mix of jade and emerald, onyx rimmed with golden-brown, so amazing and warm and..._And_ that it brought tears to his own eyes. Even blurred with sleep - and he smiled at the knowledge that it had been _him_, of everyone-in-the-world, that had caused this warm exhuastion - the two eyes most important to him, of everyone, were bright with love and amazement, golden awe, that swirled together in a mix so intoxicating he just had to kiss him.

Smiling softly, he leaned down to touch the winged boy on the lips with his own. He kept it chaste, light, hot velvet against warm silk, so soft it made his own heart ache, as he drew back gently, just so he could see the black eyelashes, smooth curves like the sweep of a brush, like tiny crescents carved of obsidian, lieing against his perfect cheek. Nothing else could have made him pull away. He nuzzled the night-black hair, the specks of reflected light from the candles shining like stars in it, as he wrapped an arm around the angel's waist. "Harry, love...We must get up"

He dosn't want to. Dosn't want to face reality, the world beyond these four walls. Would it kill the gods to grant them an existence between the silken sheets, house-elves bringing whatever was needed, the en-suite bathroom?

With a wind-whisper sigh, those white wings fold intricately, again and again, until they lie in the two indentations that run down the angel's spine. Near tears that the sight is taken from him, he runs a gentle hand down the two lines of white feathers down his back. He wants them back again. Desperately. They're a sign that they are together, that his angel is happy, that he can give his angel pleasure that makes him writhe. He wants them back. So badly. "Do we have to?" The angel whispers. He can hear tears behind the resignation, staining his voice like ink on blotting paper. Can feel them as his love turns away from him, rolls over so he can sit up, his back to him. Can see them in the quiver of the feathers, in every line of his body. In the tremble that shakes his shoulders for a moment.

He chooses. The happiness of the world outside - or that of his angel.

"No, we don't," He whispers, wrapping his arms around his angel's waist, feeling the stroking of his chest as Harry's feathers tremble with joy and pleasure. He will make those wings unfold again.


End file.
